Footy, friends and playdates - oh my!

Last Sunday we took five of Colin's friends to the "G" for an early friends birthday party. The Hawthorn Hawks were playing the Melbourne Demons and this seemed like an excellent way to celebrate one's impending 10th birthday. Needless to say this household has become a bit obssessed with footy! We have the hats, the scarves, the shirts, the cards, the posters and a thorough knowledge of most of the players in the 16 team league. We also know which coaches are in danger of losing their jobs, who is hurt, what their injury is and when we can expect them to be back on the pitch. Going even deeper - we know what clubs are in trouble financially, where players like to go out, and which player marriages are on the rocks. We might even admit to knowing a few players' scoring average per game in odd days of the month when the wind is blowing from the north at night. I'm not sure the good ol' CFL will ever look the same again.

Footy players and sports stars in general are minor-royalty in this town and as goes your team's fortunes on the field, so goes the mood of the nation - or the suburb that you barrack for. Unfortunately, there's been no lack of bad behaviour recently, particularly in the rugby league circles, and at the core of it is a drinking culture and a set of mores that generate a lack of respect for women by young men. And the officials in charge of picking up the pieces after each embarrassment can't seem to get it right, often pouring more fuel on the fire by saying things that could be construed as nothing better than a lacklustre "Boys will be boys" defence. There are no lack of footy shows on the telly, with pudgy old guys stuffed into bad suits, decrying the end of the "golden era" and the fact that the entertainment is being taken out of the game by rule changes and restrictions on what players can and cannot do. It doesn't take too much imagination to equate these complaints with a desire to return to the good old days when men were men and to the winners went the women, I mean the spoils.

Anyway, it is still a fantastic game and an even better spectator sport and so it was with great enthusiasm that we boarded the Toorak Tram and headed for the MCG. Perhaps, a little too much enthusiasm. We knew from the outset that this was going to be a "full on" adventure and several parents congratulated us on our bravery. I even had a nap earlier in the day to prepare myself. Undaunted by the challenge and in preparation for the big game and party we painted our faces in team colours, filled loot bags with team bouncy balls and footy cards, gave Colin his very own Hawthorn guernsey, and ordered mudcakes for the post-game celebration. Though not quite at the scale of our highly successful Hallowe'en Party, we were ready to give this party "a go".

I must admit that these types of activities are not my favourite events in the annals of parenting and regardless of whether it is one or one hundred of the nicest kids in the world, I struggle to be at my best. I suppose if they all walked and talked like angels and did everything I asked in the right manner and at the right time then maybe I would react differently - but of course that's as likely as my head suddenly deciding to reverse the hair loss! The adventure as a whole was fine, and apart from the need to ask all of them to calm down, be quieter, wait their turn, not kick the seat in front of them, not climb on things, stop punching each other, pass don't take, slow down, hurry up, watch the tram, say your sorry, don't swear, say please, say thank you, and have fun, but not too much - I think the party was a success. Do you think I was asking too much? Regardless of my impossibly high standards of deportment I think everyone had a good time and Colin received some very nice gifts (including footy ball, scarf and video) from his friends.

The energy of boys continues to amaze me and in spite of my own puerile complaints, increasingly sensitive ears, and diminishing tolerance for chaos, I am fascinated by the exhuberance of youth at hand. The wonderfully reckless abandon with which they throw themselves into things like footy games and playdates is inspiring, energizing, scary, and trying. It's enough to make one feel very old and very young all at the same time. It also makes me wonder when the last time I ever did anything with the kind of energy and passion that a ten year old is capable of. Linking all of that youthful enthusiasm to the aforementioned and not so savoury hijinks of the men ten years their senior, I continue to wonder how you raise boys in a way that retains their energy but directs it, just enough, to be productive and responsible. I think the trick might be to stay "in the game" as long as you can, modeling and mentoring all the right moves. By parking yourself on the sidelines too soon, you leave them no choice but to look out and up to others who just may have forgotten the rules. Parenting and playdates, it would seem, are rarely spectator sports.

"Looking back home" with Iggy

At the risk of turning this travelogue into a political op-ed piece, this entry was inspired by the recent ridiculousness coming out of our nation's capital. Stephen Harper’s recent attack ads on Michael Ignatieff’s 34 year absence from Canada has got me thinking about the effect of being away from one’s country and whether or not it really is a good or a bad thing for anybody - from aspiring prime minister to a guy doing his masters. What do we lose by moving away?

It’s a strange thing indeed, call it the traveler’s paradox – the notion that we learn more about what it means to be a member of a nation by being away or removed from it. Some might say if you truly want to get to know a country you need to travel from tip to tail, or coast to coast in order to soak up all that defines its many people and regions. However, I would also say, on top of the coast to coast stuff, one need also to get in a boat on one of those coasts and sail off to faraway lands in order to then land and look back. The perspective that comes from standing somewhere new, is at once bracing and brilliant because of the life it forces you to consider right under your feet – a reality that your mind simply could not fathom before it actually sees it, stands on it. It is a place altogether different from one’s own and it is full of lessons for the willing and observant traveler. But does that perspective come with a cost?

Though we have not been away from Canada for very long, there is something in my own shifting perspective that makes me wonder if there isn’t something at the very core of Harper’s small-minded complaint that might actually be true. While away we have immersed ourselves in a new culture and have tried very hard to understand it, accept it, and grow within it. In doing so, Canada and its ongoing relevancy has taken a firm backseat to the world that opens up to us every day just outside our front door. And while we are, of course, interested in friends and family and whether or not the Habs were going to make the playoffs, there is a certain sense of disconnection one feels from home-based concerns because there is simply very little one can do to affect their outcome. (I used to think simply by watching the game, I could help the Habs win….) It really makes me question how an academic like Ignatieff could hold Canada in his head and heart for so long.

Of course, the reverse of Ignatieff’s self-imposed academic exile can also be seen in the homebody attitudes of people like Stephen Harper. His belief in the trilogy of faith, family, and fatherland must be attractive to those who have not had the chance or taken the opportunity to peer across a border. In his world foreign countries are strange faraway lands where we only need go to fight wars, negotiate trades or to bring home hockey trophies. Personally, I think the CPC is so paranoid about finding that it is relatively alone in the world of political ideology that it doesn't dare go anywhere that might conflict with its antiquated view. Thus, Harper pulls up our borders, stifles the media, scrunches up his shoulders to block out the socialist din, and stays at home because home is good enough. It is an unsustainable model in the new global community and a leadership style that I predict will be shown the door very soon in Canada.

Which brings me back to Ignatieff. There is no doubt that he is intelligent and has that je ne sais quoi that Stephane Dion lacked. He is also an accomplished world traveler with bags and bags of experience looking out into the world and learning what other good people are capable of. As Linton so aptly put it, “What does it matter where he has lived his life as long as he has integrity and governs well?” Which immediately makes much sense. And yet, there is a little niggling red flag in the back of my mind for which I have the Harper attack ads to thank. If you are indeed about true partriot love, why haven’t you spent your time in Brampton, Moose Jaw, or Goose Bay? Or am I just another pawn in the constant "spin" of the electorate?

I do think it's a shame more Canadians can’t find what they are looking for within our borders, but to say that is to deny the many that do. And maybe that’s where I’m missing the point altogether. Canada is indeed a great country, made great by the fact that we are so willingly a collective of other nations and attitudes. And because of that greatness, that sense of strength and pride we gleen from our heritage, we are empowered to venture out into the world to explore, to study, to live and to grow - safe in the knowledge that we have a perspective that’s been expertly honed at home - teaching us to be open and accepting of all we may find. Maybe, just knowing enough about one's own country is, in fact, enough.

And yet still, this year tells me there is a distinct benefit to "looking back" from somewhere else. By seeing different parts of the world one gains a better appreciation for how other people live as well as insight into how we might do things better or differently. While there are many things that work in Australia that would never work in Canada, just learning that there are options to living life is incredibly empowering and makes one want to try to be more creative and open to change upon return home. In a very short time, Mr. Ignatieff will find out if Canadians share my opinion.

I recently read with interest the speech The Globe’s Stephanie Nolen gave to recent graduates of the journalism program at King’s College. She said that her life abroad had taught her, among other things, that to be Canadian was indeed a privilege and that by exposing herself to some of the most harrowing and harsh places on earth, she had gained a profound appreciation for the country in which she was born. Though I don’t think Harvard or Cambridge have offered Mr. Ignatieff the same kind of perspective as the one about which Nolen writes, I do hope that he is home to stay and to make a real difference – a difference I know he could only have known how to make, by being away.

On Lego, museums and the luxury of time...

A year or two ago I had this glorious experience of spending three, maybe four hours of playing Lego with Colin and Alex. We were in our basement at Harwood and I must have been enjoying one of the perks of being a teacher, another holiday, but also another chance to spend time with the kids. Our goal was to try and use every last piece of Lego we owned in order to build the biggest and best Star Wars space station the world had ever seen! And we did. Use all the Lego that is. And we did it together, with only a pee break or two, without a cross word being spoken or anyone clamoring for the TV, a video game or the need to see daylight. I don’t even think we ate.

For a dad and a parent, it was a beautiful thing on many levels. We had of course played with the Lego before, but what struck me as being so memorably joyous was the sense of unlimited time the three of us had to simply play, together. I will admit to a major numb bum and several parts of my body refusing to sit cross-legged for longer than a minute. I also remember the dizzy sort of delirium I battled while looking for a grey flat piece with only 4 nubs against our grayish, flat, nubby carpet…But my point is that we went at it for several hours without a look to the clock, a concern for a meal, or a better place any of us had to be.

I was reminded of this experience recently because Colin had to do a class presentation about Lego the other day and so the family was immersed in a lot of Lego talk, research, building and remembering. In the course of the research and planning, the little bit of Lego we have here received a fairly good workout. Just tonight, we came together again on the living room floor and started to build another, way cool space station. As the boys bickered a bit over which gun should go where, I was transported back to that time in the basement. As I picked up piece after piece and snapped them into random spots, I found myself again free of concern and wholly content to be imagining new worlds with my boys. It also reminded me of something Lint and I talked about just a few days ago…

We were back at the Melbourne Museum, trying to avoid the throngs of people that had plagued us a few short weeks ago. As it was Sunday, we had absolutely no plans and so we let the pace and places be dictated by the kids. It was a great afternoon. Things we had seen before seemed fresh and new. We discovered galleries and places we had never seen before and might not have seen this time if we had rushed through. Turning off the adult impulse to worry about time, boredom, sore feet, or the simple fact that we had been here before allowed Lint and I to see it as the kids see it; we allowed ourselves to play. As we caressed our desperate coffees in the museum café we realized that we all do better with the luxury of time.

And yet earlier today I seemed to have forgotten that lesson already. I spent an hour engaged in a serious Pokemon battle with Alex after school. It does not quite have the same appeal for me as Lego and as with most games and Alex, you need to find creative ways to try hard but be sure to lose in the end. Anyway, it was fun, especially for him, but after awhile my mind and my will started to battle it out. Could I stay for one more battle or could I beg off with “sore knees” or “bathroom break” as legit excuses? Here I was in the middle of another of those glorious parent-child-play moments and I found myself craftily planning my exit. What was I thinking? Why would I ever want it to end?

I didn’t. Deep inside I really didn’t want it to end, but I was tired of the make believe and craved the news, a drink, a website, or something more adult for my Pokemon-addled mind. Was it possible too that I was just played out? I don’t think so. I think it may have been a generational thing- whereas Lego seems to have some innate ability to make the leap across the generational divide – Pokemon cannot – and having used my limited ability to live in the world of Pikachu – my mind inevitably “went elsewhere”.

And so finally, here I am. Approaching the end of the best thing our money could ever buy – time with my kids – and I continue to make discoveries, good and bad, about myself and what’s important. I think I knew of these discoveries before, like that magic moment in the basement a few years ago, but it’s taken a full year of being presented with them every day in order to understand how so much of what happens with our children is as a direct result of what happens with ourselves. By slowing down, looking up, or putting the clock away when the Lego is out or the museum calls then we all have a better chance of living – and playing - in the moment for the first or even fifth time around!

Expansion in a time of contraction...

Consider this another entry to my list of long running rants along the carpe diem continuum. Another realization about life and living that has managed to wedge its way into my slightly less cramped cranium in the last few days – and it goes something like this.

Time is linear. We move along it or down it knowing (or not) that with every day we get older, hopefully wiser, and inevitably closer to some sort of end. That is undeniable in life and it is becoming increasingly undeniable in our year away. At last, unofficial count, we have a mere six weeks of time before we bundle our bags and bodies onto a few planes and head for home. Seems incredible. But like a sudden brush with mortality, the calendar is starting to remind me that our time down under is becoming short and that we need to keep working at living here, rounding out the experience every day.

But that’s becoming increasingly hard. There are travel arrangements to be made, a house to clean, boxes to buy and then pack and a multitude of things related to life back home that are beginning to come into focus. And the list continues to grow. Meanwhile, back in Melbourne, I still have some things to learn at school, the boys have homework to do and friends to play with, we have places to visit, restaurants to try, life to live and even new friends to make….Yes, new friends to make.

Recently, after meeting a really nice dad who was willing to let Colin practice with his basketball team, I remarked to Linton that it was “Too bad we hadn’t met him earlier”. Not to say that we have not met tons of really nice people, but that here was someone who, with more time on our docket, I could see wanting to get to know better. And what I guess my point is, to this whole blog, is that we should still try and get to know him and any other people who we see at the café or bump into on the tram, whether we have a day, a week, or a year left in our journey.

But, as I have already said, it’s hard. Time is indeed linear and it drifts away from us or, conversely, pulls us along at a speed that people and relationships cannot always keep up with. Building connections with people, seems to me to be a “rounder” process where we build layers and add experiences like the rings of a tree, eventually connecting us together as people in “bubbles of familiarity”. As time moves along, immutable and unstoppable, our round relationships come willingly, follow eventually, or remain rooted where they are and ultimately left behind. Unfortunately, we sometimes weigh friendship and its value against whether or not we “have the time” or our "bubbles" are in sync.

So while we begin to worry about whether we need to bring home both Aussie animal sticker books or the Wall E bed sheets, we also need to recognize that there still might be a friendship, face, or potential "bubble" in the coffee line tomorrow for whom we simply must find the time.

April 14-22 Family in Melbourne

No sooner had our plane touched down in Melbourne than we were “full on” into the next half of Pat and Bill’s tour down under. For the second half of their stay, we would be adding more family to the mix. Sheila, Andrew and the kids were in town for a holiday having come down from Hong Kong via Coolangatta & Byron Bay and thus, we were eager to spend the next week showing the whole gang the town we had come to call home.

Once again Linton had drafted and re-drafted a clock-work itinerary that saw trips to the museum and Imax, Eureka Tower, Aquarium, zoo, etc. The four kids got along famously and we loved to watch them laughing and playing together. Their endless hide and seek game in the museum park was a highlight.

We broke bread together many times in many different places and hosted a few brunches and lunches chez Macpherson as well. La Porchetta, our cheap and cheerful neighbourhood trattoria, entertained everyone’s pizza and red wine craving after the museum. On another night, Alex and Simon Davies, who knew Sheila and Andrew from their own days in Hong Kong, joined us down in the Docklands for all the meat we could eat at the Bluefire Grill.

Linton and I actually hit the bars of Melbourne with Sheila and Andrew for the first time since we’ve been here and I am sorry that it hadn’t happened sooner. The Melbourne Supper Club – where we were accosted by that drunken Kiwi, the Spice Room – where we might never have got in on a busy night, and the Carlton Club – where the red velvet wallpaper and life-sized stuffed animals were the main attraction – all got our money… but not that much as we stayed for one and were home by midnight!

On another night the adults hit the Melbourne Comedy Festival to laugh along with comedian Mark Watson – whose observations about how boring Adelaide is and the noises old men make was his best stuff. Earlier that day we were all at the footy watching our beloved Hawthorn get creamed by Port Adelaide. Another fun time at the “G” though we are starting to think we are bad luck for the Hawks! After the game, the entire Davies clan joined us for some wicked wheel – gluten free crust and all – back at our place. The Pavlova (pictured) was a highlight! The visiting, chaos and constant food and drink were fabulously fun and made the week fly by too fast.

After waving goodbye to the Cunninghams, the pace didn’t let up as we bundled into a cab and headed for Cirque de Soleil’s Dralion playing in the Docklands. Something about seeing that famous yellow and blue tent flying the Canadian and Quebec flags struck a very patriotic tone in my heart. Pat and Bill toured the Great Ocean Road on the next day – a “must” when you’re in this part of the world - and we spent the last day of their visit with a sumptuous lunch at The Press Club, a Yarra River cruise and a wander through the laneways and shopping arcades.

And then, incredibly, it was over. With a few tears and hearty hugs we bid farewell to Nannie and Grandpa as they made their way to Sydney and the final stage of their tour. Their 25 day odyssey had come to an end and it seemed like only yesterday that Lint had started to plan for it. This time the hearts were not quite so heavy though, knowing we would be reunited in a mere three months’ time.

At times, this entire year has bordered on the surreal because of the familiar feel of life in Melbourne. Apart from the obvious absence of family and friends, there isn’t a lot here (save the heat and deadly animals) that separates it from life back home and we have found, at certain times, its “normalness” pushes us to want it to be more different. When family has arrived, that sense is enhanced in both directions – the city is new and different again because we see it through new eyes but the experience becomes “more normal” because we have our family around us. Selfishly and perhaps somewhat insecurely, we were hoping this week might help to validate this life choice by sharing a small piece of it with family. And though we set out to “show off” the city and to celebrate the success of our year; in doing so, the week also became a wonderful reminder of the role family plays in shaping who we are and the way we view the world.

Catching up with the Kids

The past few weeks have seen a number of kids' activities go by without having received a dutiful blogging from yours truly. Therefore, this entry is all about catching up with the kids.

The Great Lee Street Fete

Every year the kids' school holds a fall fair fundraiser. It's call the Fete (pronounced fate) and is one heck of a big undertaking. Very early in our tour of duty a parent, who has since become a good friend, asked us to help out with the juice booth. Well, that was not going to be a problem for a couple of intrepid, community-minded keeners like ourselves and so we were officially "on" to help run the Great Lee Street Fete juice stall. One boozy "meeting", one marathon fruit cutting session and one even longer day of serving up fresh juice later and we emerged with complete admiration for the couple who have been running the stall for the past few years. In fact, the whole fete operation was very impressive - from the rides to the food to the behind the scenes volunteers. Kudos must also go out to Lint who pounded the pavement along Lygon street for several weeks in search of donations from recession-weary businesses. That's a tough gig in one's own country, let alone one where you are a temporary resident! Oh yes, the kids had a blast, eating and spending their way to new levels of sugar-induced delerium.

Cross country running

Shortly after the Fete, Colin competed in a cross country running meet for his school where he placed sixth in his age group. That result was good enough to send him off to "districts" which were held last week just up the street at Princes Park. They had to run 2 kms and, considering he had only ever run one race before, we think he did wonderfully finishing a respectable 38th. I don't know if this may lead to more running or not, but it was a learning experience for Colin. I watched from a distance with interest as he dealt with the idea of being beaten by some of his peers and not doing as well as he might have thought. He seemed fine with it, but there was something that seemed to be nagging him...or maybe it was just his dad hanging around asking if he was okay. The photos are from Colin's school meet.

Ceres Field Trip

Linton here - I went with Alex's class and all the Year 1/2s on the tram (yes 70 kids and about 10 adults) north to East Brunswick to CERES (the Centre for Educational and Research in Environmental Strategies) for a full day of learning all about "shelter". This excursion complimented the kids' classroom work on learning about the environment and how humans/animals survive living off the land.

CERES is located on 10 acres on the banks of the Merri Creek and runs on renewable energy, conserves and recycles its water and waste, grows organic food, and teaches diverse audiences about more just and environmentally friendly ways of living. What makes the CERES concept particularly compelling is that sustainability initiatives are located in a participatory social setting which makes it a perfect outdoor classroom.

The kids loved making a variety of different shelters from a variety of cultures - mud huts (African villages) William shelters (Aboriginal Australians) yurts (Central Asia) tipis (Native American) - and looking at animals in their natural environment discussing how they protect themselves from the earth's elements.

Alex really enjoyed the "hands-on" learning experience and running around with his friends. I very much enjoyed it too but was thoroughly exhausted after the day. I cherish this time and the ability to go on class excursions with the boys' school.

Collingwood Children's Farm

Last weekend we took the kids to what surely had to be one of the last must-see sights in Melbourne that we had yet to do - the Collingwood Children's Farm. A larger version of the Riverdale Farm, this oasis of calm and compost in the middle of the city was a very short tram/bas ride away and a nice diversion for a glorious Sunday morning. Filled with the requisite sheep, goats, ducks and stuff it seemed people were there as much for the cafe as for the chance to commune with livestock. In fact, we spent as much time in the line up for food as we did anywhere else...ask Alex! Apparently, the farm is also one of the places in the city where there are often tiger or brown snakes - two of the more nasty varieties in Oz - but thankfully due to the season we needn't worry. Still, I was wary about parking my butt on anything that looked like snake habitat. It wasn't a particularly jaw-dropping experience, but then they can't all be Milford Sound and it was great to be outside with the kids seeing it all through their eyes. And from that, rather more "fresh" vantage point, it was a perfect day.

April 13-14 Dunedin to Christchurch and then "Home"

I've been doing a lot of learning about learning this year, as you can imagine. The neat part about all of the theory I am digesting is that in absence of a real classroom with which to put some of these ideas into practice, I am finding that my/our personal life is a most able substitute. Take, for example the ideas of situated cognition and metacognitive learning. The first idea suggests that we learn best by doing, often in the place for which the skill is relevant. The other idea is a little more abstract but essentially concerns itself with the need for reflection in the learning process. In other words, people/students need to absorb ideas and be allowed an opportunity to think about and work through how those ideas relate to one's prior knowledge, view of the world, etc. in order to acquire new meaning. In so much of what we have done and seen in this year abroad I have learned something by both experiencing it and then reflecting on "what it all means". Our last days in New Zealand were no exception.

About an hour "up the road" from Dunedin you start to drive along the coast. And in this stretch of endless beach is a place called the Moreaki Boulders. Now, I suppose it's not so much a place as a spot, with a cafe and gift shop, where there is something interesting to see. What is indeed interesting to see are these perfectly round, one million year-old boulders scattered on the beach. They are immediately stunning and fascinating at the same time and they draw you in irresistibly like a mouse to cheese. I have forgotten the geological reasons behind their formation and existence on only this one, small spot of beach, but that just lends more to the mystery. We all had fun climbing up, over and around them and imagining the forces at work to create such odd natural shapes. Mere minutes before I might have said that only mountains could inspire such wonder in the natural world, but situated beside these unearthly balls, my cognition for how the world works was forced to change; something it would have staunchly refused to do staring at the same boulders on tv or in National Geographic.

Leaving thoughts of "what it all means" for another day, we turned north again for Christchurch. A few rather mundane hours of driving later, we checked in to our busy but "interesting" hotel (who hands out those stars anyways?) and decided that a Teppanyakki restaurant was a fitting final meal for some road-weary palates. Or maybe it was just Lint's craving for sake. After a fun meal (though no flaming onion tower) and some free parking we headed back to our motel eager for a little shut eye before the big travel day. Unfortunately, an extremely loud fire alarm roused us from our slumber at 3am and our combined reactions, along with a few wicked cases of bedhead, were a combination of delerium, hatred and abject terror. Nothing primes the adrenalin faster than a screaming siren in the middle of some serious REM sleep.

The next morning, our plane wasn't scheduled to depart until 2 pm which left us plenty of time to do one last touristy thing - the Antarctic Centre! Christchurch is home to a full 70% of all flights to the Antarctic and as such, has an enormous and very well equipped interpretation centre adjacent to the airport. We had great fun exploring the exhibits, the highlight of which might have been the Storm Room where they can recreate -20 Celsius conditions with a wind chill much greater than that. Colin did it in shorts! The other laugh was a wild ride in a Haggland(sp?), a tank-like vehicle specially equipped for negotiating crevasses and ice flows. There were plenty of screams by all as we headed up and down the "Hill of Insanity" - or whatever it was called. Soon after all that fun, we boarded our JetStar flight and headed for home, keen to show Nanny and Grampa our Melbourne life.

And so then to the meta-cognitive stuff I was yammering on about at the beginning of this blog. Over the year, I have come to appreciate the fact that it may only be through travel that one can really learn about another place. Textbooks, internet, maps and photos can help, but there is no substitute for breathing in the air and soaking up the sounds, the smells or the feeling of standing in the actual place - be it Milford Sound or the corner of Yonge and Eglinton. And just as that might be true, in terms of really knowing a place, I also feel that it is only upon reflection and by comparing that experience to one's prior knowledge, that we are able to burnish new and better meanings about the world and our relationship to it. In that regard, our trip to New Zealand taught me a lot about my understanding of the world, but it was only a perspective that I could "see", or perhaps fully appreciate, in hindsight, when the wheels of our plane touched down back in Melbourne.